Ride Away
by The Fifth Champion
Summary: Battle City is finally over, and Marik has discovered the errors of his ways and wishes to fit in. But as he struggles to retain a normal life, he realizes he isn't normal. And all his problems may not be solved...
1. Default Chapter

Ride Away

**Prologue: Shattered Dreams **

Marik sighed as he punched the numbers into his calculator. There was no point, really, checking his work.

He was already certain he had gotten it wrong.

It was not a matter that the boy didn't understand his homework. In fact, Marik was entirely sure that the answer to this very question was lying dormant somewhere in his mind, buried under the deep, complex fragments of his being, but still very much in his grasp.

No. The true source of his failure was nothing more than sheer will alone. Even if he didn't consciously realize it, some part of him wanted, _longed, _to see the answer come to an incomplete result yet again.

Just like him.

It didn't even bother him, erasing his own work just to write it all over again... In fact, it was somewhat satisfactory, staring at the confused, tiny numbers jotted all over his paper, the dusty pink remains of his nearly entirely rubbed away pencil.

It all represented him.

Ishizu was not taking the news of him failing almost every subject of his first-ever high school nearly as lightly as he was.

Marik could see the constant worry and hurtthat lingered in her blue eyes whenever she merely spoke to him, and it only compelled the boy to believe that he was even more of a disappointment than he already realized.

He could not even succeed in making his family happy.

Marik did not want to hurt Ishizu. It was only because of her wants that he would speak to that awful man in the white coat–the one that sat behind the desk, constantly nodding and scribbling down secret notes he wouldn't allow Marik see.

The boy felt strangely repressed and trapped within that room, very much like those torturous hours he had experienced when the darkened entity had concealed his soul within the shadows.

But the bobble headed man, schooled to nod and agree with every sentence Marik uttered even as he jotted down how insane he was on the perscription, hadn't understand that. (1) He never understood anything.

Instead he only frowned and handed Marik a small bottle of medicine he was supposedto take.

But he never took it. Something kept telling him it would all be so much better if he only threw it away.

Both siblings couldn't seem to reason with Marik's sudden openness in discussing themes such as the Shadow Realm and Millennium Items. Surly he realized normal beings didn't know of these supernatural things?

But that was the problem. It just didn't seem to matter anymore. Nothing seemed to matter anymore.

The boy's only true desire was to only make his family happy–see his sister smile–but even that seemed way out of reach.

A slight smile flickered across his face when he saw the tiny numbers appear on the calculator screen. _Eighty-eight. _

The true answer was ninety-two.

Both the homework questions and answer sheet fell from his limp hands, falling silently to the floor besides his feet.

A pharaoh wouldn't have these sorts of issues.

Then again–that must have been his biggest mistake of all.

He wasn't a pharaoh. Just a lost, broken soul with shattered dreams...

A/N: Thanks for the help with that line, Caorann fridh Bronach! I basically stole it, but changed it slightly.


	2. High School Ostracism

**Chapter One: High School Ostracism**

"Marik, wake up! _Wake up. _You're going to be late for school!"

Ishizu's high-pitched voice cracked painfully through the boy's sleepy mind, sending waves of fatigue throughout the rest of his body.

He pressed his face against the fluffy surface of his pillow, groaning as Ishizu continued to usher him out of bed.

"I'll go to school tomorrow. I promise."

He heard the young woman sigh, and moments later she had thrown the covers off the mattress, leaving him both miserable and shivering.

"_Fine. _I'm _up, _okay?" he snarled furiously, forcing himself upright and scowling groggily. But Ishizu had already exited the room.

"Get ready for another day of hell**," **he murmured in false cheer as he padded towards his closet.

A sinking feeling hit the pit of his stomach as he pulled on the dull, blue uniform he was required to where every day

The same clothes every other male in the school wore.

All representing how they abided, or rather, were _forced _to followeven the pettiest rules the principle set...

Marik shook his head. It wasn't normal to think that way, he knew it. It was these sortsof things that compelled Ishizu to insist on him seeing that damn therapist.

And yet, it was these sortsof things that Marik refused to ever let pass his lips in that room.

He ran a comb through his whitish-blonde hair and trudged downstairs, ignoring the customary gloom that poisoned his heart every morning.

Ishizu was bustling around their small kitchen, setting out plates and cereal boxes while hoping out loud she wasn't late for work.

Odion had already been seated, staring awkwardly at the young woman as she served breakfast, yet certain that the moment he stood to help she would force him back down again.

"Good morning, Master Marik," hereplied in a deep voice.

Marik tried to smile, but it seemed almost impossible to move his facial muscles in that direction, causing him to only be able to pull off a strained, unnatural curve at his mouth.

"You're going to the library, today?" the boy asked, glancing at Ishizu once she had finally settled down.

The woman nodded.

"Why wouldn't I? I am working there for the time being."

"I was wondering if you'd let me stop by," Marik muttered, stirring the soggy contents of his cereal.

Ishizu frowned. "Marik, I'd love for you to stop by, but the last time you did you got every question on your math report wrong."

A knot contracted in the boy's stomach. Yes, he had gotten every answer on that sheet wrong, but it had not been because of staying at the library too late. He had simply _wanted _his worksheet to be that way...

"Master Marik, perhaps I could retrieve the books you wish for, and bring them back home after school?"

The boy's eyes immediately flicked from his uneaten breakfast to his, at least in Marik's opinion, adoptive brother's face.

"Could...could you?" he mumbled in a soft, almost hopeful tone.

The moment the words had escaped his lips he felt the thick, horrid emotion of guilt whelm over him, like heavy chains dragging down his very soul.

It was horribly selfish for Marik to ask such a thing of his brother. Terribly egoistic to expect Odion to take time out of his complex schedule to pick up a few paper-bound books for a boy who had only just, so willingly, tried to overthrow the pharaoh...

"Of course, Master Marik," Odion replied, immediately shattering the boy's train of thought.

He was very close simply telling his brother to forget it when he caught Ishizu's eyes. She looked worried again.

"Marik, you haven't touched your breakfast," she spoke, her tone soft and distressful. "Aren't you hungry? You barely ate last night."

The boy shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Not-really, Ishizu. Don't worry, I"ll...I'll eat at school."

"Are you sure?" theyoung women replied, surveying him through piercing blue orbs. Marik's stared back down at his now thoroughly waterlogged cereal, guilt twisting his insides uncomfortably.

"Yeah, I'm sure."

"I could drive you to school today, Master Marik," Odion brought up. "I've just been given my driver's license the other day."

The teenager gave off another weak, failed smile, congratulating his brother softly. Living in an underground tomb in Cairo had secluded them from such privileges for quite a long time.

"...It's alright, though," he finished distantly, standing up and grabbing his book-bag. "I'll just take my motorcycle."

A flicker of nervousness flashed across Ishizu's face. "You really want to take it again?"

"Yeah," Marik muttered tonelessly, emptying his untouched cereal bowl and exiting the kitchen.

"Remember to weara helmet," Ishizu warned firmly, rising from her chair and following him into their equally small living room.

He nodded.

"And _don't _go over the speed limit. I didn't like the policeman bringing you home yesterday. You got that?"

Marik nodded once more and tried to give his sister a faint (and awfully painful) smile before dragging his feet out the front door.

He never felt home anywhere else besides here. The wind whipped coolly through Marik'sblonde hair, and it seemed the faster he moved the farther and less fractious his problems seemed to become. They were unable to plague him–unable to drag down his soul as he flew swifter and swifter away from them on his loyal, trustworthy friend.

His motorcycle.

Things are different here, he thought earnestly as he pressed down on the gas pedal. I'm free here. _Free. _

The word echoing hopefully through the boy's mind, holding a special, unique meaning that only he seemed to notice. A meaning equivalent to the feeling of soaring on his motorcycle.

But it ended all too quickly. In mere moments he had reached his dreaded destination; the bland school building stuck out stiffly from the ground, giving off the very aura of discontent.

He parked his bike and got off glumly, the same yearning emotion to get back on filling his gut the moment he did so.

He began to make his way through the crowd--not that it was very difficult. Most groups parted at the mere sight of him, and a few glanced warily as he passed by. He could hear some muttering things lowly under their breath as they stared.

Marik knew what they were talking about. Only the pharaoh, his host, and his companions (along with Seto Kaiba, but he never believed a word of it) had truly known what the boy had done back at Battle City and why he had done it. But normal bystanders of the Tournament were not completely oblivious. They had known enough to find out it was him causing the bizarre disruptions. News, such as Tea Gardner being strapped to a chair while a gigantic block of cement hovered menacingly over her head spread faster than a wild fire. And even the few who didn't know of Battle City avoided the depressed, anti-social "new kid."

There were times when Marik would wonder if he deserved this hatred and isolation, if it werea reasonable punishment for his crimes. And yet...wasn't the cruel reality that his thriving quest for freedom was wrong penalty enough?

The same answer came to him every day. No.

"He still isn't exactly normal, though, is he, Yug? I mean, he sorta just mopes around and stuff. _" _

The voice rang out clearly as the teenager entered the building. Through the corner of his eye he was able to make out the figure of Joey Wheeler,unsuccessfully attempting to conceal his conversation with the pharaoh's host.The shorter boy only nodded uncomfortably, large eyes darting towards Marik for a second only.

"Let's just leave him alone," he replied hastily. "He's not starting problems, anymore..."

The Egyptian boy bent his head and plunged further down the hall, determined to get away from the accusing voices that still penetrated his every thought. It haunted him, choked him– they were the good guys and he was not.

But the stuffed hall brought him no comfort. There were people all around him, jarring, pushing, shoving–the crowd was closing in on him and swallowing him whole. His breath shortened and his vision swam. They had him cornered, _trapped, _and there was no way to escape...

Marik pace quickened until he was almost running, pushing his way wildly through the thick herd of students. He didn't stop moving until he had reached his home-room, literally panting as he collapsed into a nearby desk.

And that had to be another reason why Ishizu was so determined on him visiting that therapist. There was no way feeling this claustrophobic in a mere crowd was natural. He recalled once hearing the empty-headed man rambling on about something called demophobia._ Fear of crowds_.(1) It would not surprise Marik in the slightest if this was what he had become a victim to, and it somehow made him feel even more lost and hopeless. He was still shaking, drawing deep, rattling breaths where he sat, some students eyeing him warily.

Both siblings seemed to think his hatred of closed places had to do with being locked up in Cairo for so long, but Marik found proof against this. Why was it that _he _felt this way when the rest of his family did not? Those crowds felt more like angry mobs, ganging up on him and scorning him for his sins. So he'd run away and then heavy guilt would fall upon him once more–he deserved that torture, deserved to feel such pain.

The teen sighed and pressed his palms against his eyeballs, unable to barricade the plaguing thoughts that ran through his already muddled mind.

Luckily for him, the bell rang moments later, and his thoughts automatically swapped to the horror he was certain waited ahead of him.

"...Mr. Ishtar, could I have a word with you, please?"

The class was filing out of the room, Marik, as usual, way behind them, gathering his books both slowly and glumly and tipping them into his backpack.

"Yes?" he asked, turning over to the teacher with a dull feeling of apprehension in his gut. He knew exactly what was coming.

"I know you're a smart boy," Mrs. Yuan stated almost stubbornly, staring at him with meaningful eyes. "I know that you can do these equations. You're just not trying. Why?"

Marik shrugged, keeping his eyes low to the ground as his insides squirmed guiltily. He was sure that trying to explain would only make her grow needlessly concerned.

"Mr. Ishtar," Mrs. Yuan spoke in a more sympathetic tone. "Are things all right at home? I know that life can be a little...chaotic without any parents–"

"Ishizu and Odion take wonderful care of me and everything else." Marik rose defensively, a slight note of anger beneath his normally toneless voice.

Mrs. Yuan nodded, though worry flickered through her brown eyes as she gazed at him.

"Alright, you may go..."

The boy exited the room much faster than usual, both anger and guilt peaking as he made his way down the hall. How could anyone possibly blame his failures and losses on his siblings? It was not in any way _their_ fault he was awasted no one.

He was in such a tempestuous haze he didn't even look to where he was going, accidentally ramming into someone. Books spilled from the person's arms onto the floor, papers scattering everywhere.

"Sorry," Marik mumbled, bending down to help whoever it was pick them up. But then he froze. Yugi Mouto stood before him, an impassive, though slightly worried expression dawning over his small face.

"It's okay," the pharaoh's host replied quietly. "I'll go get them." He bent down to go retrieve his books, but Marik suddenly exploded.

"NO!"

The words had escaped his lips before he could even think of suppressing them. It seemed as though the whole hall had fallen immensely silence, as though every eye was focused on nothing else but the two figures standing before the scattered array of books.

Master and servant.

The Egyptian boy's heart was jumping painfully in his chest, his ears ringing with words he had uttered so long ago.

But he mustn't listen to them–he was, after all, the pharaoh's servant. It was his fate, his duty, and he needed to comply. Why not simply help the pharaoh's host gather his spilt school supplies?

And yet a shadow of his former thoughts echoed venomously, though loudly, through his mind. _Slave. _

"What's going on here?" Tristan Taylor was drawing nearer to his short friend, a very suspicious, skeptical look settled upon his face. "Hey, ishe starting any–"

"No, everything's fine," Yugi answered immediately, giving Marik what might have been a warm smile. But the boy had already dropped to his knees, collected Yugi's books distractedly, and was now dumping them back into his arms.

Without saying another word, he hung his head and walked away, feeling slightly lightheaded as he entered his Global classroom. He slumped into his chair, the teacher's rambling already falling upon deaf ears. Still, the repetitive words "Egypt" and "pharaoh" rang out clearly and seemed to stab the boy in the heart like a cold dagger.

Marik threw his bag roughly over his shoulder as he shot out Domino High's doors. The day was finally over... Now all he needed to do was get through that pointless therapy session and he'd be home-free–

The teen's thoughts froze midway through his mind. There was a small crowd of people around his own age surrounding his motorcycle, one fiddling with the locked chain he had intertwined around both the wheel and lamp post, assuring no one could steal it.

His heart began thudding very fast. "Get _away _from there!" he roared, racing over to his precious bike and the monsters trying to rip it from him.

A greasy, hard-eyed boy straightened up, his lips forming a slimy, almost amused smile.

"Oh, does this belong to you?" heasked in a tone of mocked innocence. "Well, we had no idea, right guys?"

The gang behind him guffawed and nodded, wicked excitement glinting suspiciously in their eyes.

"Well, it belongs to me," Marik said hotly, ignoring the delinquents'stifled snickers and attempting to step in closer to his motorcycle–but the bulkiest group members seemed to form a living barrier around it.

"And you're _sure _of this?" theoily-haired and obvious leader jeered, his voice light and casual, as though they were merely discussing the weather.

"Yeah," Marik spat firmly. "Let me have it, _now!" _

The word cut sharply through the late afternoon air. The teenager's voice was thick with both demand and hatred, only recognizable to those whohad seen him back at Battle City. A few heads turned, and a departing teacher stared at them questioningly. The leader's iron eyes darted from him back to Marik in a mid-second.

"You'd better watch out, _punk," _he hissed poisonously. "This ain't over." As if to add to the threat, he jarred the boy painfully in the shoulder as he stalked away, his gang trailing behind him like a pack of brainwashed zombies.

Marik sighed, ignoring the buzzing students that had just viewed the incident from a distance, now shooting him suspicious glances as he pulled out a small key and unlocked his bike. Before a single teacher could run up to interrogate him, he had already pressed down on the gas pedal as was speeding down the block. And yet for once, his motorcycle was unable to ride away from the troubles that plagued his mind so often. A new one was beginning to form. As he sped down the block, he couldn't help but have the uneasy feeling this could be his last ride.

A/N: Thanks for the information, Caorann fridh Bronach!


End file.
